


Desperate Times

by echoinautumn (maybetwice)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Dubious Consent, F/M, Genderswap, Implied Torture, Implied Violence, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pre-Relationship, Rule 63, Science Experiments, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:03:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybetwice/pseuds/echoinautumn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sulu and Chekova are taken prisoner by a group of over-inquisitive aliens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate Times

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/11004.html?thread=10047228#t10047228) at [](http://st-xi-kink-meme.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://st-xi-kink-meme.livejournal.com/)**st_xi_kink_meme** that’s been slow-coming, but very suddenly tripled the size I'd hoped it would be.

*

Chekova tells him that he was asleep for three days, seventeen hours, and thirty-three minutes when he groans and blinks up at her through sleep-crusted lashes and the layer of dust that’s settled over him. Her hair is loose over her shoulders and she looks battered, but she’s probably antagonized the guards a few times and gotten herself roughed up for it. It’s just like her to get in fights, even in impossible situations like this one.

They crash-landed the shuttle into the planet when they were hit with a wave of subspace radiation while the shields were down for observations, and the last thing Sulu remembers is throwing out an arm uselessly to keep Chekova from flying into the instruments just as the shuttle broke through the atmosphere. Three days (seventeen hours and thirty three minutes) later, Sulu woke up to the dark cell and Chekova’s soft, accented explanations.

“I was unconscious when they found us. I woke up here, and you were worse, and you were not awake,” she explains, pulling her knees up to her chest and searching his face for a reaction before she continues. “They took me out of the cell for interrogation. I did not tell them anything.”

Sulu knows he should be proud of her for doing her duty as a Starfleet officer, but he just wants to close his hands over her shoulders and check her carefully for any other hurts, because there must be others she hadn’t told him about. “Chekova,” he begins, and she smiles, squeezing his hands.

“Sulu, I am fine,” she assures him and begins to check him over methodically, but her touch isn’t hesitant, as if his skin is familiar to her. She’s probably spent the last few days checking him for a pulse, for injuries, and worrying. He reaches up and takes her hand in his, offering her a warm squeeze, and her face relaxes. “I was worried you would never wake up.”

“I’m fine, Chekova.”

Sulu doesn’t have the chance to say anything more when the door at the end of the hallway outside their cell bangs and announces the arrival of their guards. One leers at them on the other side of the polymer barrier and taps in the code to unlock their cell. He looms in the doorway, amethyst skin glowing in the dim light and his dark eyes darting around the cell, as if he expects them to have multiplied in his absence. When he starts talking, Chekova is frowning, but her features aren’t contorted with confusion, and then his universal translator starts working again, jarred by the crash.

“—will be returned to them after we complete a single test.”

Chekova starts swearing at them, and Sulu isn’t sure what’s going on until the guard steps aside and two others haul him to his feet in the cell and lead him out, leaving Chekova shouting at the first guard with her fists clenched. He doesn’t even feel the needle when it stings him, but he does feel the icy injection into his vein and turns his head toward the guard holding the syringe.

The next thing he sees is the ceiling of the cell and that’s when he begins to piece his memories together enough to realize that he must have been unconscious, and he doesn’t know for how long. He moans and fails to push himself up, then whimpers at the ache in his cock, which feels harder than it’s been in his whole life.

“You’re awake,” Chekova observes and crouches down next to him, helping him to sit up against the stone wall. “Not so long this time, don’t worry.” Her eyes drift down to his crotch and then flicker back up to his face, where Sulu is too groggy to even try to look sheepish about something beyond his control.

“Did they say what they did?” he croaks and Chekova shakes her head, her gaze going back down to his groin.

“Just an experiment before we’re returned to the ship. The Captain negotiated our release.” She’s close enough that he can hear her breath catching in her throat and her pulse rising. The faint blush across her cheeks is too much. He reaches out to cup her bruised cheek and brushes his lips over hers softly and is somehow surprised when his arousal flares sharply and her green eyes flash in surprise.

“Shit,” he mutters and pulls his hands away, slamming his eyelids together. “It’s kind of taking all my self-control not to jump you right now, I’m really sorry, this isn’t right. It hurts, shit, it hurts.”

“Sulu,” she breathes and he jumps when her cool fingers rest feather-light on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. When he doesn’t open his eyes or say anything in response, he hears her chest rise with a slow breath before she muses, “I think this is their experiment.”

“Do you _think?_ ” He shouldn’t lose his temper at her, she doesn’t really deserve it, but everything is tight and desperate and he _needs_ release. Her skin is perfect and soft and _then_ he opens his eyes and looks up at her like she’s a new, undiscovered alien to him, like he’s never seen her before. And maybe he’s never seen the chestnut highlights in her corkscrew curls because she keeps her hair in a tight bun on the bridge and the lights on board the ship aren’t particularly flattering for anyone. Maybe this is because it’s the golden, evening glow through the windows of their cell, or maybe he’s too far gone to remember that this is Ensign Chekova, who is four years younger than him and beats him in chess twice a week and returns his banter at the helm, and who certainly has never looked prettier.

“Does it hurt?” she asks quietly, but her hands stay folded together and away from him.

Sulu nods and groans, hating himself for giving himself away. “Oh, God,” he gasps and she closes her eyes, as if she has a decision to make. Seconds later, she opens them again and she reaches toward him with determination set firm in her eyes.

“Then we make it stop hurting, end the experiment, and return to the ship,” she concludes with impeccable, clear-headed logic.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he stammers at her, but Chekova bats his hands away when they close around her shoulders to hold her away, the only part of him that doesn’t feel traitorous right now. “I really wish I could—”

“Hush,” she tells him firmly and folds her hand around his, meshes her fingers with his and kneels in front of him without any sign of hesitation. “They trained us for this in the Academy, didn’t they?”

“Yeah,” Sulu counters, but he’s too hard to put any actual force behind those words. “But they told us to get _away_ when things like this happens, it’s never actually supposed to happen, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You’re probably some kind of virgin, this wasn’t how you imagined it going for you.”

She levels such a cold look on him then that he actually shuts up, though the insubordinate command was never issued. As far as it goes, she _is_ the ranking, capable officer here, even if she’s pulling off her underwear one-handed and looking down at the impressive tent in his pants like a fascinating, alien theory she’s never seen before. Sulu just moans in horror again and closes his eyes. She’s a virgin, she’s just too proud, too much of herself to admit that she is, and he’s going to ruin that along with whatever friendship they’ve built so far.

“Sulu,” she says firmly and looks up at him from his erection, her green eyes serious and penetrating. “It hurts, right?” He nods again and she pulls off her uniform dress over her head with a single, practiced movement that makes him think that maybe she’s actually been in this exact scenario before. “Then don’t ask questions. I know what to do.”

He wants to ask her if this is really okay, if she’s going to be okay with this, what her first time was like, but her hands are decisively swift when they push both her bra and panties out of the way without a sound. He doesn’t get a chance to ask anything before he’s fumbling with his uniform shirt and she’s already loosened the belt on his trousers, pushed them away and wrapped her fingers around him with a touch that’s too practiced to be virginal.

Chekova helps Sulu out of his uniform with lingering fingers and a reassuring smile, even when he knocks her hands out of the way and pushes her against the floor, rubbing his cock against her thigh because it’s the closest to relief he’s had since the cell door clattered shut behind him again.

“Chekova,” he moans into her ear, trying so hard but failing to keep himself from pushing his cock against her slit. His head snaps up when he realizes that she’s wet, she’s not fighting him, and her breath is coming in short, labored pants.

“It’s Polina,” she corrects him softly, her lips barely moving when she spreads her trembling knees apart a little more and folds her legs around his waist. It’s an invitation if Sulu’s ever seen one, and he pushes in deep with the first thrust and feels his blood heat when her whole body arches up into his like a clinging shadow.

“Polina,” he repeats, as though he’s never heard her name, even on the bridge. It only ever appears as P.A. Chekova on his data screen when he calls up her files, not that he’s ever had reason to do so, he hastily adds when he tells her this and lifts her hips to just the right angle for him to move in her, slow and deep for now, at least, even though it feels like he’s going to die of wanting her so much if he can’t get deeper into her. “ _Polina,_ ” he repeats and loses his rhythm to the haze of satisfied pleasure, broken only by her soft moans when she squeezes around him.

“It’s fine,” she whispers to him, before he can worry that he’s hurting her, that she doesn’t want this. Her fingers are trembling on his forearms, bracing herself against the tide of his desire. “It’s good like this. You’re so good, don’t worry, just take what you need.”

His doubts evaporate entirely when she whimpers again. “ _God,_ you’re tight,” he pants into her ear and shiver as her fingers loosen and smooth over his chest. “I can’t get enough of this, it’s not going to be enough.” Some part of him is alarmed at that, at the idea that these aliens must want them to fuck until they’re too exhausted to escape, or that they might die from it, but the thought is gone as soon as it comes, wiped away entirely when Chekova’s fingers push his hair back and close around the mussed strands.

“Right _there_ ,” she instructs breathlessly and he nods, lifting her leg over his shoulder and driving deeper into her, spurred by the choked moan of surprise she makes that dissolves into a litany of soft praise.

The only good Sulu can see from the whole thing is that he comes faster than usual, that it doesn’t have to be a long, drawn-out affair that will feature heavily in their report anyway. The tightening in his belly doesn’t come suddenly; it builds on the desperate ache in his balls, satisfying nothing but still good. The relief comes only when he finally releases, coming in long pulses and a low cry, and just as suddenly he forgets why it was so important to fuck Chekova and to fuck her _right then._ He shakes his head to stop her from saying anything while petting her damp curls, and he isn’t sure how he’s going to ever face her again, not least of all while he’s still pressed deep inside her tight cunt, leaking come and mortified.

“Hikaru,” she hisses immediately, despite his attempt to deflect the inevitable conversation, but the urgency in her voice tells him that there’s something he’s missed, and she’s barely shoved him off of her and tossed his pants to him with one hand, yanking her dress over her head with the other. “Get dressed, get dressed _now_.”

“What’s going—” He barely manages that much before the door slams open and he realizes they’re going to be found naked, and _then_ he hears the muffled sound of a voice from a communicator, _Kirk’s_ voice, and though the rest of his words are lost to incoherent garbling, his last words seem to ring across the chamber.

“Two to beam up. Energize.”

The transporter beam hums in his ears while Sulu fastens his trousers and Chekova is just pulling on her boots when it closes around them. Her eyes lock on his and she brushes her fingers over his as they materialize on the pad. Sulu hasn’t felt transporter sickness since he was in the Academy, but his stomach rolls when he sees Kirk standing beside the console while Scotty’s fingers dance over the instruments. McCoy rushes ahead of both of them, shouting at them to stay back, _dammit_ , he can’t confirm that they’re not contaminated. Chekova pulls her fingers away from him and stands at attention while McCoy waves a tricorder at Sulu, who has never felt less professional or comfortable as he does with McCoy checking him for alien contaminants, in bare feet and a pair of uniform trousers.

When McCoy scans Chekova, he looks up at her with his eyes narrowed, and Sulu doesn’t need to see the screen on the tricorder to know that it’s showing human biological material belonging to someone other than _her_.

“Sulu’s still metabolizing that damn drug they warned us about, but it’s negligible in his system now. He’s clean, just bruised up. He’ll need a trip to sickbay.” McCoy jerks a thumb toward Chekova. “She’s just going to need a physical before debriefing.”

Kirk nods and turns toward Sulu. “Good. Lieutenant, report.”

“Lieutenant Sulu was incapacitated and compromised for the majority of our incarceration,” Chekova pipes up immediately, and Sulu has never been someone to shirk his duty, but he couldn’t be more happy to give it up now. “I will provide a report in his stead.”

McCoy looks as though he’s going to object, that _she’s_ obviously been compromised, but Chekova only steps off the pad and nods to both captain and doctor.

“I will submit my report by 0800,” she tells Kirk, who nods curtly, satisfied to reach out and squeeze her thin shoulder.

“Good to see you two are all right. Report to sickbay.” Neither Chekova nor Sulu give Kirk the chance to ask any further questions, and when they’re alone in the hall, Sulu reaches for her arm and is actually surprised when she doesn’t pull away immediately.

“Chekova, I—”

“ _Polina,_ ” she corrects him again, gently, even as she loops their arms together and leads him toward sickbay. “There will be no repercussions, Hikaru. You need someone to check your head because of the crash, Doctor McCoy will scold me for engaging in risky sexual behaviors, and…” She pauses just beyond the sensors for the doors to sickbay, even though Sulu can hear McCoy’s voice from further down the hall, indicating that he’s just behind them.

“And?” he prompts impatiently, and she squeezes his hand.

“And I will see you in your quarters later this evening to, ah, work out some of the _details_ of our ordeal, hm?” She grins brightly and releases him just in time for the doors to open and McCoy to appear at the end of the hallway.

Sulu stands shell-shocked in the hallway and watches her sashay into sickbay carelessly, as if nothing strange ever happened between them, and then it dawns on him what she meant. “Oh,” he mumbles and follows after her.


End file.
